Like a Scar
by Purtail
Summary: Because a Fable may not be able to survive a beheading, but a single stab wound shouldn't take one down so easily. (Episode 5 spoilers)


**Like a Scar**

**Summary: **Because a Fable may not be able to survive a beheading, but a single stab wound shouldn't take one down so easily. (Cry Wolf spoilers)

**Rating: **T

**Notes:** Fuck plot-convenient deaths. I'm bringing Georgie back to life through fanfiction.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own TWAU.

* * *

A Fable isn't taken down so easily.

The strength of the Fables are quite adjacent to their stories' popularity; the more the tale's retold, the stronger the Fable becomes. It works like a spell, strengthening the magical being and letting them live on for years and years without being killed by normal means. Indeed, a Fable can take blow after blow and still be standing; can be beaten bloody and still manage a smirk upon their lips, asking for more of a challenge. The desire for a fight within a Fable varies, of course, but more often than not, they are not keen on giving up so easily. Various conflicts in Fabletown have solved themselves using just this method.

There are, of course, a few ways to kill a Fable for good; severing the head from the body was one popular method. Those who suffered that end did not have a chance of survival. Many girls in Fabletown had met this fate, mere pawns ensnared in something that was bigger than any of them. The town corrupted itself for years, and Sheriff Bigby Wolf has realized too late for some.

Faith, Lily, and Vivian are dead. They are not coming back, no matter how many times their stories are told.

_Georgie Porgie, puddin' and pie…_

A simple stab to the stomach, however, isn't enough to kill a Fable.

Georgie Porgie realizes this the minute he wakes up in on an uncomfortable surface. The material underneath is not soft, but not quite that hard, either; it's a lumpy bed or a couch at best. Could be worse, he supposes, but not by much. His mind is a complete haze of mental fluff he can't even begin to travel through, his body frozen in a laying down position, arms folded over his chest.

There's an unbearable hotness in the air and a wool blanket tossed carelessly on his stiff frame, something tightly secured around his torso underneath. He can't see what it is, but it hurts like fuck and he wants it off _now_.

Jesus, why does it fucking _hurt_ so much?

Parting his dry mouth, Georgie attempts to say something, even if it's just one single word. Instead of anything valid and understandable, like he'd hoped, a low groan passes through his lips, echoing in the small room. Since his memory fails him, he must take clues from his environment to figure out what had happened; the place is unfamiliar, but cramped, a bright pinkish light shining in through the window. It reminds him of the neon signs in the Pudding 'N Pie; obnoxious, in-your-face, and a hell of a good way of advertising a business.

So whatever business is out the window, they're doing a damn good job at it, especially to whoever lives in this shitty place. Yes, it's quite shitty - Georgie can tell that by the rotting Chinese food on the table and the peeling wallpaper. This is not where he's used to sleeping, so this isn't anywhere near his home.

It stinks of cigarette smoke, but not the kind he's used to, being a smoker himself. No, this is a cheap brand, a disgusting scent that just screams of a poor bastard stuck smoking it.

Georgie hears thumps from behind him - no, they're more like clopping sounds. And suddenly, there's a fucking _pig_ staring at him. He blinks a few times, just to make sure he's actually seeing it and it's not a fucking illusion, and the animal steps closer to him, a smug smirk on its fat face.

"Hey, good. You don't need a kiss to wake up." Georgie's eyebrows shoot up when it talks, though he isn't as surprised as a mundy would be. He hadn't been expecting a pig to be in his current venue, that's for sure. "Though you're not _my_ choice of prince…"

Once more, he attempts to speak, finally managing to push a few hoarse words past his throat. "Wh… what. What hap'ned?" It's all he can manage, so he sinks back into the surface (a couch, he realizes all at once), waiting for an answer.

The pig chuckles lowly. "Sorry, Georgie. It ain't my job to tell you stuff like that. I'll leave that to him, yeah?"

Before he could ask who the fuck itwas referring to, there's a beer can shoved in his face, held still in the pig's mouth. Quirking a brow, Georgie shakes his head; beer is the last thing he can think of right now. There's so many questions to ask first.

Attempting to sit up proves itself a mistake; a sharp strike of pain shoots through his abdomen the moment he moves, and he lets out an involuntary groan of agony. His sudden movement makes the pig shake its head, almost as if it's _disappointed_ in him.

"You do that again, and you're gonna bleed even more all over Bigby's good couch. Er… only couch. And bed, come to think of it." The animal's words all fade away after the word Bigby - for at that word, that fucking name, it all comes back to his Georgie.

The sheriff came to see the Crooked Man. He'd threatened to take the boss in, to bring him to his own twisted version of 'justice'. The boss had fucking sold Georgie out, pointing the finger at him for Lily and Faith's murders. Yes, he had done the deed, but only because the Crooked Man had told him to - _and_ to protect Vivian.

Vivian.

Oh, Jesus, _no_.

Georgie's face falls for a split second before he erupts in anger. "Wh- why the fuck d'ya bring me back here!? I was _dying_, for fuck's sake! How- _h-how_…" _How_ did he survive? _Why_ did he survive? He didn't _want_ to survive! Not when Vivian…

The pig blinks, unresponsive to Georgie's outbursts, and shrugs its shoulders the best it can. "Honestly? I don't know the 'why'. But as for 'how' - you know a Fable doesn't die that easily. Hell, Woody got an axe to his brain a couple weeks ago, and was walking around just fine the day after." Lowering its voice, it continues, "Look, my point is, Fables have to take a lotta shit to die for good. One stab in the stomach wasn't enough for you to die."

Georgie believes it. He believes it because it's the only option to go with right now, and it makes too much damn sense. Of course one stab of a glass shard wouldn't be enough for him to kick the bucket. Of course nearly spilling out his own intestines didn't push him over the edge of death. It's all so fucking peachy and convenient that he should feel oh-so-happy about surviving. But there's a sense of despair in him that he can't fight through; lowering his head, he brings up and arm to cover his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, as if it would somehow capture and destroy the sadness and grief enveloping him. But no, it couldn't; of course it couldn't. If he was dead, this wouldn't be a problem. He wouldn't feel _anything_ - and honestly, he prefers it to this.

"Get 'im," he growls, voice still feeling like gravel. "Get Bigby and let me talk t'him. _Now_." Georgie realizes he's not in the position to make demands, but it's pure habit for him now. He's used to being the boss and making orders; now he's back at the bottom of the food chain, and for how much longer? Did it even matter, now that he had been pointed to as the killer?

The animal doesn't move, its defiance only fueling Georgie's anger. "I said _now_, you fuckin' _pig_!" he growls, ignoring the pain emitting from his stomach.

"Yeah, yeah, I heard ya. And, hey, I got a name, _Georgie Porgie_," the pig responds, his tone bored and unintimidated. "It's Colin. Now, does the _princess_ need anything before I go grab the big bad wolf?"

Sneering bitterly, the man replies, "Yeah. Go put Vivian back together, and get Fabletown off m'back. Think you can manage that?" Or does he have some fucking straw house to retreat to?

Colin snorts. "So touchy." He turns his fat head around before yelling, "Hey, Bigby! Sleeping Beauty's awake!" Before Georgie can hiss something at him, the pig shoots him a dry smirk and waddles away, into another room (or so Georgie assumes; he can't see much of the sheriff's home from where he is).

Once more, Georgie suppresses a groan of pain and leans back on the uncomfortable cushions of the couch. The blanket is still on him, concealing his torso, but he knows it must be bad if he's still in pain. Fables heal fast, but intense injuries definitely last longer than their usual healing rate. Heaving a half-sigh (he can't get the whole thing out just yet), he wonders what will happen. Of course, he doesn't particularly care; there's not much else to live for, and he's practically a dead man, anyway. He'll be executed for sure, once Bigby smacks him around a little.

But had all of this been worth a proper trial, or whatever the fuck Snow White wanted with him and the Crooked Man? Was the wolf dragging his dying ass back to his own apartment, laying him on his couch with a wool blanket _that's hot as fuck_, and having a pet pig watch him? Why go through all that trouble when his life would have been ended back at the Pudding 'N Pie, and everyone would've been fucking happy - including him.

Knowing Bigby, it probably has something to do with making Georgie suffer before he's executed - or, hell, maybe the beast has been itching to kill him the moment he awoke. It's all very unclear to Georgie, and with a mind that's already fogged up with broken bits of memory and _so much pain_, he can't figure it out. Hell, he probably can't even if he's in perfect health.

Thumps echo behind him again, this time not the annoying clippity-_fucking_-clop of pig hooves, but the gentle footsteps of shoes. Georgie turns his head, his blurry gaze trailing to the man that appears seconds later - looking as big and as bad as ever.

Against his will, Georgie shrinks back, intimidation probably written all over his face. He can't bloody help it; when the big bad wolf comes around, fear's sure to follow, no matter if he's friend or foe. In this case, however, he is definitely foe, and Georgie can't help but be a little afraid (despite being resigned to death).

Bigby's expression is unreadable, as always; his arms are crossed, his clothing neat and face clean of wounds and blood. He looks… perfectly fine. Did a fight not occur? What happened after Vivian took her own life?

Shit. Just thinking of Vivian causes him to curl inwards a bit, like he'd been struck. She's a horrible wound to him, an injury he can't nurse with bandages and antiseptic and some TLC. No, she's the scar that's not going to fade.

The wolf raises an eyebrow, stepping towards Georgie and leaning himself against the window, the pinkish lights outside tinting his form. "Bet you're wondering why you're here," he begins roughly, closing his eyes in thought. "And why you're alive."

"You're damn right," Georgie snaps back, not letting the searing agony from his abdomen get the better of him. He grips the blanket as best he can, finding the strength to toss it away; upon doing so, however, he sees what's constricting his torso. Bandages are sloppily sectioned over his stomach wound, taped over a few times to secure them. Blinking in confusion, Georgie looks to the sheriff, wondering just why he went through all the trouble.

Still, he continues, "I… I want some fuckin' answers, Bigby. You and I both know I was gonna die. Hell, I fucking _wanted_ to." And still did, but that isn't important right now. "I want you to tell me why the hell y'couldn't have just left me there with Vivian."

She didn't deserve her fate. He is the one who had made the most mistakes, so he should be killed for it, not her.

His chest feels hollow at the thought of her, however, so he pushes the thought for now. Just for now. He'll give himself time to feel the sorrow later, but he needs to berate Bigby right now. He needs to find answers, and then he can grieve.

"Georgie," Bigby begins, carefully, "You may be a fucking asshole, but I couldn't just leave you there. You could've bled out after a while, but there was still time to save you." With a smirk, he adds, "And it's practice for my new method of approaching this whole sheriff thing."

Georgie laughs, or at least tries to; it doesn't work all that well for him. "Yeah? And what's that, Bigby? Letting innocent people kill 'emselves? Taking down the pawn and not the fucking king?" he spits out, his tone is bitter and humorless. It hurts to speak, to even move, but he can't stop. "_You let her die_."

"We both know that's not how it went," Bigby shoots back, his lips drawn in a frown. "Vivian took her own life. She did it to save Nerissa, and the rest of _your_ girls."

"Fuck off," Georgie hisses. He usually relies on similar insults when he doesn't know what to add to an argument; what could he say, though? Bigby's right, and they both are aware of it. Georgie deserves death.

Maybe Bigby can help him with that. Glancing up at the sheriff, his gaze as serious as he can manage through the throbbing, he murmurs, "Listen. Can't you just… end it? I know you can - you've killed before. We both realize the truth, don't we? _I don't want to live_."

Bigby has the fucking nerve to roll his eyes. "Sorry, but no. You can't run from what you did," he replies, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one up. After a moment of stillness, he offers one to Georgie.

"Fuck no," the man snarls in response. "Of course you'd have the shittiest brand out there." His insult is half-hearted and more out of habit than anything else at this point. With a sigh, he drags his exhausted gaze to the wolf. "Why aren't you stringing me up, then? Ain't that your fucking job? I killed Lily and Faith." By all rights, he should be executed.

Bigby gives him a long stare before taking a long drag of his cigarette. "You weren't the only one that fucked up. Besides, the Crooked Man was behind it all; Nerissa told us the truth."

Georgie tilts his head, a bit confused at what the 'truth' was - did she say she knew that the Crooked Man had ordered Georgie to kill the girls? She hadn't been there. So what had she…?

He doesn't get the chance to ask, as Bigby continues, "He's been dealt with. The Crooked Man, that is. So as far as I'm concerned, this case has been solved." Giving a wry smile, he adds, "Well, that won't stop me from keeping you on probation, Georgie. And the Pudding 'N Pie is definitely closed for good."

"What a fucking surprise." Not. As if Georgie's business could have survived what went down - and fuck it all, anyway. It only reminds him of Vivian now, anyhow, and he doesn't need that. But he isn't exactly sure what to do now; lowering his gaze, the Fable mutters, "Don't suppose you're gonna gimme another job, are ya?" No fucking way this bastard would, anyway.

"Not likely," the sheriff answers. Georgie really just wants to punch the smug right off his face, but even he knows that would be a bad idea. Not like he could do anything like that now, anyway.

As Bigby lets out another puff of smoke from his mouth and nostrils, Georgie closes his eyes in thought, memories swirling through his mind. "How long?" he asks, not noticing his voice cracking at the end. "How long has it been?"

"Since…"

"Since she died, _ya fucking git_!"

"...About a week," the bloody wolf sounds remorseful, as if he's sorry for what happened to Vivian. Does he not understand that it's _his_ fucking fault in the first place? The goddamn sheriff who preaches about protecting Fabletown, but instead kills and stabs and guts the ones he doesn't like?

No, but that's not right, is it?. It's not Bigby's fault this time. No, this one is all Georgie. _Georgie_ held onto the girls as tightly as he could. _Georgie_ trapped them until they could do nothing but sell their bodies and swim in debt. Vivian was just one of his victims; in _Georgie_ drove her to suicide in the end.

Another reason he doesn't want to live.

"Was there a funeral?" he asks.

"No. Not yet." Lowering his voice, Bigby says, "They've, uh… been waiting for you. Nerissa, and the rest of your girls. They're free now, you know."

As if he doesn't know that. His mind may be a bloody cotton ball right now, but he still can connect the dots and figure out that the spell was fucking broken.

But still… why wait for him? He'd killed Lily, and Faith, and caused Vivian to…

It's all his fault. If Vivian hadn't died, _maybe_ he wouldn't have so many regrets. _Maybe_ he wouldn't have grieved. But he'd never know now, because her star has burnt out and he's stuck by himself now.

"For fuck's sake… Why me?" Dammit, another crack in his voice. "Why would they wait for _me_?" Couldn't her body be safe with the girls, long enough to bury her?

Bigby lets out one last puff of smoke before discarding the cigarette in a nearby ashtray, on his table next to the old Chinese food boxes. The room continues to stink of the cheap-brand drug, the heat of the approaching summer sinking into the room through the open window. Even with his shirt off, the bandages are enough of a compressor to make him feel sticky and hot.

"Because believe it or not, Georgie, but they don't think you're a _complete_ piece of shit. They want you to mourn Vivian with them." Scratching his cheek, the wolf adds, "You don't have to do it alone."

Georgie closes his eyes, wondering just how much of his life he has to redo because of all of the shit with the Crooked Man. He can't bring back any of the girls he'd killed. Hell, with his state of mind, he isn't entirely sure he can keep moving forward at all. The temptation to stop and sink into nothingness is very tempting, considering he'd almost given into death a bit ago.

It isn't fair that Vivian died and he didn't, but he'll wear her like a scar from now on - never forget her, never let her memory die. He's weak, he's fearful, and he isn't sure what to do or where to go for possibly the first time in his life.

But for now… well, getting to tomorrow sounds like a good place to start.


End file.
